


Remember Everything

by UndeservingHero



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Sniper Dean, Violence, War, War AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:18:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndeservingHero/pseuds/UndeservingHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't like who I am anymore, Cas. I don't like the man I see in the mirror anymore."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Remember Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend listening to Five Finger Death Punch's Remember Everything. It's an important influence for this story.

_Click._

  
_Click._

_Click._

_Wait._

_Squeeze._

_Boom._

 

It was always the same. Always the same dull ache in his shoulder. Always the same blank feeling in his chest.

They told him he did this for his country and the safety of civilians. The knowledge didn’t help or hinder his nightmares. Didn’t soothe that empty void in his soul.

He hated what he did but it was far too late to back out now. And he was far too good at what he did for the army to let him go.

He used to think maybe, if he did a good enough job, they would give him a medal, pat him on the head, and send him home.

He knew better now.

 

Arid climates were hell on respiratory systems, both human and mechanical. Air filters had to be changed more often, exhaust pipes too.

It made water as good as gold.

Dean pulled the Humvee back into the base, trail of dust billowing up after them. All he could think about was getting Johnson medical attention and some sleep. He’d been awake for over seventy-two hours and he was dead on his feet.

Pulling to a stop in front of the medic, he told the boys to unload Johnson and get his shoulder looked at before getting rest. Instead of following them, he head to his CO’s quarters to give his report.

An hour later, he was finally given three days’ leave to rest and recuperate. He didn’t even stop to grab food; he just headed straight to the barracks and was lucky he landed in the right bunk.

 

After nearly twenty-three hours of sleep, Dean rolled out of his bunk and dragged himself to shower and get checked over at the Medic even though he’d been a long way from combat.

Other than dehydration and exhaustion, there was nothing wrong with him, which he was relieved to hear. Last thing he needed was to worry about being under the weather when his unit had shit to do.

Heading to the mess, he got some food for the first time in two days and tried to fight off the urge to vomit as it hit his stomach. He forced it down with more water and ate slowly so he wouldn’t make himself sick.

None of his men came near him. They knew he couldn’t talk right now. Not so soon after what had happened. He never could. Not about what they did or what he was so good at.

Fighting off nausea and drowsiness, he went to talk to his commanding officer whom promptly kicked him out of his office because he was suppose to be on leave for two more days.

The lack of anything but healing to do made his skin itch and he just wanted to get out and do something.

He went to the Humvee they’d been in the day before and his rifle case was still tucked safely against the back of the back seat where he’d left it. He slid it toward him and opened it. His M82 was laying nestled in it’s foam egg-crate cutout where he’d left it looking worse for the wear. Nodding to himself once, he closed the case and took it back with him to the barracks after stopping by the Quartermaster’s to get cleaning supplies for it. After settling on his bunk, he dismantled the rifle and set about cleaning each part.

It was something he’d done a million times but it was something that calmed him because these were practiced movements. He didn’t have to think when he was putting his lifeline back together. He just had to make sure it was perfect.

As he pieced the rifle back together and made sure all of the parts worked, he was putting parts of himself back together. It gave him the time to lock all of his emptiness back together into something that resembled himself. With each click-clack of the gun snapping back together, little pieces of his soul found each other again but there was always a piece he couldn’t find that had slipped through his fingers.

The gun, however, fired perfectly when he took it out to the range to test it.


	2. Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graphic depictions of violence are prevalent in this chapter. Proceed with caution.

Scratch.

Pin.

Scratch. 

Rustle.

Orders.

Winchester.

 

“Winchester!”

Dean’s attention snapped back to the present and he looked at his CO. “Yes, sir?” 

The CO rolled his eyes. “I said take this file and go brush up on it. You’ll leave tomorrow at three-hundred hours.” 

Dean nodded and took the file. “Yes, sir.” 

He turned and left, file under his arm as he returned to his barracks. He didn’t want to do this. It was why he’d blocked out what the man had been saying. 

He didn’t want to do this any more than he wanted to shoot himself in the foot. 

They were going to invade a small town and sweep for hostiles. That’s what the report said anyway. 

Dean had a different mission. 

There was a group of extremists hidden in one of the abandoned hotels in the center of town. Dean had been directed to take out the leader with his rifle while their boys got them all flushed out. He was to take out as many as possible, no questions asked. 

It made him sick to his stomach. 

The fact that he was supposed to kill with extreme prejudice without even knowing if the people coming out of the hotel were who they were looking for made him want to curl up. Maybe vomit. 

His men wouldn’t even know what they were going to do until they were en route to the town. 

He rubbed his sternum and sighed. His void was about to get a lot bigger. 

***

The sun beat down on his back, unrelenting. He took a drink from his canteen before lying it beside him and looking through the scope again. He looked at his watch and took a deep breath. Ten minutes. And then all hell was going to break loose. 

His boys were taking the roof of the hotel from one of the buildings beside it. He’d already made sure the roof was clear and had radioed over to them. 

Sweat dripped down the bridge of his nose and he swiped it away before looking through the scope again. 

That was when he heard it. The softest pop of someone’s boot settling onto the roof behind him. He didn’t move, waiting to see if the sound grew closer. When it did, he moved his hand to his belt and drew his long knife before rounding on whoever was behind him, be it friendly or foe. 

A man was standing behind him with a red and white cloth tied around his head, knife drawn as he crouched in surprise that Dean had rounded on him. 

He cursed. Of course it was one of the men that he was sent here for. The red and white gave it away. 

The man said something, but Dean had no clue what he said. He guessed it was for him to put down his knife, but he couldn’t do that. Instead, he braced his feet and waited. 

The man yelled at him again, but when Dean didn’t move to follow the order, he grew angry and lunged at him, knife held at an angle for Dean’s face. 

Dean rolled out of the way and the man almost sent himself over the lip of the roof but righted himself and came after Dean again. Dean was forced to engage him when he was toppled over backwards, dropping his own knife as he crossed his forearms to block. The man was on top of him, bearing down with all of his weight to get the knife closer to Dean’s exposed throat. 

With no choices left open, Dean pressed his thumb into the man’s eye socket, causing him to yelp and roll off of him. 

Dean rolled to his feet and grabbed his knife. 

Even more determined to end Dean, the man came at him with deadly quickness and they locked in hand-to-hand that would have made Bobby proud if he’d seen Dean holding his own. 

Dean went for the guy’s throat and landed a solid blow, but the close proximity allowed the man to bury his knife in Dean’s side.


	3. Righteous Man

Searing pain.

Lash out.

Righteous rage.

Self-defensive action. 

Stillness.

Silence but for breathing. 

 

Dean panted as he grabbed onto the edge of the roof and slowly lowered himself to the ground. He gasped when his wound was jarred. He reached up and undid the side of his armor so he could get a hand to where the stab wound was. His hand came away sticky with blood and he cursed. 

He bared his teeth in a pained grimace as he put pressure on it, prying his radio off his belt.

Pressing the button, he said, “Callahan. Winchester--” He cursed. “Winchester to Callahan.” He waited and gasped in relief when the other came of the line. 

“Callahan to Winchester. What’s wrong?” 

Dean laid his head back. “I’m down. Got jumped from behind. Stab wound. Need back up.” 

“We’re coming, Winchester. Just hang on.” 

Dean pulled out his handgun as he looked up at the desert sky, trying to will himself not to bleed out. 

***

It took nearly five minutes for his team to get to the roof. Thankfully, they hadn’t left home without their medic. 

Bryant was an excellent medic, but Winchester's wound was beyond him. The knife had completely lacerated his kidney, spilling black blood. He packed it as well as he could and they gingerly moved him to a stretcher, Dean passing out somewhere in the middle. 

Six men made sure he got safely to the Humvee where Callahan called it in as they beat feet back to the compound. 

At least the US military didn’t mind spending good money on medical facilities. Else Dean Winchester would have died that day. 

***

Dean hated hospitals and everything to do with them. The incessant beeping telling him his heart was still thumping away in his chest was probably the worst part. 

Then again, the hole in his side, now void of a vital organ, was no picnic. 

He started singing in his head just to drown out the beeping and tried to go back to sleep.

***

A week later, he was allowed to return to normal living quarters only to be told he was being discharged. 

Holy shit.

He was getting sent back to South Dakota. 

***

He was thrown a party but he stayed chairbound the whole time since he was supposed to “take it easy”. It was good to see his unit cut loose after so long. If he was being honest with himself, he was going to miss them. They had been together for almost ten years. People had come and gone in one way or another, but the essential core was still there. These were people outside of family that he would trust with his life and had on a regular basis. 

He sipped at the water he’d confiscated from the bucket of ice. Yeah, he was going to miss all of them even though he’d wanted to strangle all of them at least once. That was a side-effect of living with someone for so long though. 

Sighing after the millionth well wish, he stood, looking at his watch. It was late and he had an early flight back to the States. His side was aching like a bitch and all he wanted was at least four hours of good sleep before he had to fly. 

He was so not looking forward to that. 

There was a damn good reason he wasn’t a paratrooper. And it wasn’t because he was bow-legged. Didn’t even really have a reason for it either. He knew it was statistically safer than driving, but nothing that big and heavy was meant to fly. 

Bringing himself back from his inner dialogue, he said his goodnights and goodbyes to those he knew wouldn’t be there when he shipped out in the morning. 

When he hit his cot, he laid and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He was too busy thinking about Sammy and Bobby and home. He hadn’t been back in nearly two years. And even then it was only a month. 

He was still trying to figure out how he was going to fit back into his old life. Hell, he didn’t even really have one. No job. No wife and kids. Just Sammy and Bobby. 

Well, and Baby. 

Maybe he could get a job at a shop. Or open one with Bobby. He liked the latter idea better. 

His watch beeped when the hour rolled over and reminded him to set an alarm in case, by some miracle, he managed to fall asleep. 

His thoughts strayed to his little brother and his big puppydog expression. Man, he missed that. That little kid expression on his brother’s puss made everything worth it. 

***

Soft beeping from his watch woke him and he got up on auto-pilot, changing into clean fatigues and going to the latrine to brush his teeth. 

Then he had to stop himself. There were no orders to receive, no mission to complete. 

Just a plane to catch and a phone call to make. 

It hit him then just how close he was to leaving this godforsaken desert behind for good. 

In less than twenty-four hours, he would be in his own bed listening to Bobby snoring through the walls and Sammy up all night tapping away on his laptop. 

No possible gunfire unless a hunter got riled up in the night. No jets. No Humvees rolling in at all hours. Just quiet Sioux Falls, South Dakota. 

He sighed and went back to his cot, gathering the duffle he’d packed yesterday and grimaced when he pulled the still tender tissue on his side, held together with sure stitches. 

He took his pack and himself out to the CO’s office and got his papers. The CO told him he was going to have someone drive him to the airstrip and shook Dean’s hand before saluting him. 

“Take care of yourself out there, Winchester. We’re going to miss you around here.” 

Dean nodded. “Will do, sir.” 

He left and went to find that Johnson was his escort. He smiled at him. “Figures it would be you.” 

Johnson shrugged. “I asked the Colonel if I could be the one to take you.” 

Light brows went down over his eyes. “Why?” 

The other gave him a look that told him it was a stupid question, but he answered anyway. “You’ve saved my life more than once, Dean.” Johnson’s voice grew softer as they sat beside each other in the Humvee even though no one could hear them. “And I like you a lot. I want to make sure you get on your plane back to your brother.” 

Dean swallowed and looked around them, nodding at that. He met Johnson’s eyes. “Gonna miss you too, Jacob.” 

Johnson nodded with a small smile before they set off. 

Their ride was quiet and short. They both got out on the air strip. Johnson pulled Dean into a hug, tight to the point of bruising. “Take care of yourself, you hear, Dean?” 

Dean nodded against his shoulder. “You too. Make sure you don’t forget me, yeah?” 

Johnson snorted. “Impossible.” 

Dean hugged him tighter briefly. “Almost forgot. Rifle’s under my cot. Take care of her for me.” 

Jacob nodded and squeezed him. “You got it, Dean.” 

They pulled apart and Dean met his eyes one last time before turning away with his duffle and getting onto the plane. 

He looked over his shoulder and Johnson was waving at him. He returned it and stepped deeper into the belly of the plane. 

***

He called Sammy and Bobby when he hit Laguardia. He knew that would be enough warning since Bobby ran his own business and Sammy worked from home. 

He didn’t think he was ever going to get Sam to shut up so he could get on his plane. 

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he’d missed that. 

He had to paper bag it halfway through but managed to not have a panic attack. The little girl sitting beside him had made a face but had shared her gummy bears with him when she figured out he was afraid of flying. 

Kids were good like that.


End file.
